


Well, The Thing About A Man- Its Main Distinguishing Feature- Is It's A Man. And The Thing About A Trans Man- The Reality Of A Trans Man, Your Basic Trans Man Fact- Is It's A Man.

by DontOffendTheBees



Category: Red Dwarf (UK TV)
Genre: (mentioned at the very end- you know who it is), (mostly), Affectionate Insults, Alive!Rimmer, Angst and Humor, Awkward Conversations, Bickering, Boys Being Boys, Canonical Character Death, Coming Out, Don't copy to another site, Drinking, Drinking Games, Gen, Implied Internalised Homophobia, Inappropriate Humor, Insults, Mr & Mrs Rimmer's A+ parenting, Pre-Canon, Rimmer's shitty upbringing rears its ugly head, Rimmer-typical classism, Trans Male Character, Trans!Lister, author is transmasc, because I say so, but Rimmer's folks did a number on him and he needs like at least a night to think about this, i promise this is a fun/happy fic!, ignorance, sorta - Freeform, tagged gen because I ship these two but this isn't an overtly shippy fic, the briefest whiff of conditioned transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontOffendTheBees/pseuds/DontOffendTheBees
Summary: “Sorry, what?”“Hmm?”Rimmer was looking at him funny, his stupid big forehead all scrunched up. “When you were a what?”“When I were a bird. Well, not that I ever really was, mind but y’know, legally and that. Before I went on the hormones for me rugged good looks I got a few blokes getting the wrong end of the stick-” he shrugged. “Not that it mattered to me they were blokes, ‘course, but it would’ve mattered to them that I was.”“Lister, what the smeg are you on about?”In which Lister tells Rimmer a secret (that he didn't know was secret)Transmasc coming out story- heed tags and author's note warnings!
Relationships: Dave Lister & Arnold Rimmer
Comments: 18
Kudos: 49





	Well, The Thing About A Man- Its Main Distinguishing Feature- Is It's A Man. And The Thing About A Trans Man- The Reality Of A Trans Man, Your Basic Trans Man Fact- Is It's A Man.

**Author's Note:**

> It's always the way isn't it. You've been alive thirty odd years and you haven't (knowingly) met one, then suddenly one shows up and its the man you've been living with for half a year.  
> (i'm sorry this is such a dumb title kjfghnsgkdgfh Holly isn't even featured in this fic, idk man sometimes the title inspiration gods are generous and sometimes I just say some bullshit, y'know?)
> 
> Well hello, folks, 'tis I- re-watching a show I first watched when I was f a r too young to do so and re-imagining it in mine own queer image, good day to you.
> 
> Anyway, Lister is transmasc. Do NOT ask me why, it's just vibes y'know, just vibes, I'm vibing with him. After reading the excellent fic [H is for Homophobia: An Introspective](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25502554) exploring gay Rimmer I was inspired to write my own stuff about trans Lister, and thought about doing it in a similar fashion- taking a bit of a tour through the seasons and key moments to follow the whole story. But I have far too much hand pain and too little motivation to be that dedicated or thoughtful about this thing, so one-offs are what you're getting (also tbh, I don't think Lister being trans affects his story as much as Rimmer being gay affects his, because Rimmer's still coming to terms with/exploring it but Lister transitioned pre-Red Dwarf and is basically just livin' his life, y'know?). I MIGHT add more stories/chapters exploring this in different situations in future as they occur to me, but for all intents and purposes this is a one-shot.
> 
> So, quick word about this fic, which I would read if you're worried about potential story triggers: this is basically the convo where Lister 'comes out' to Rimmer. But it's not really a deliberate coming out, because Lister is an 'enlightened 23rd century guy' and for the most part hasn't had to explain or justify this to people (I'm being charitable and saying that the RD times are generally more tolerant/educated than ours, even though the actual show was mostly written in the 80s/90s by cishet dudes and it shows), so he's legit surprised that it's a tripping point for Rimmer. And Rimmer, coming from the background he does, does not immediately know how to handle this. Now, I wanna assure you that it doesn't actually result in aggression/slurs/transphobic insults, because I don't wanna write that shit, but there's tension and it's not great. But Lister has his boys to be drunkenly supportive, and I'm being very charitable to Rimmer and saying that he can get over this particular hurdle of ignorance/internalised queerphobia relatively quickly- I think since this one doesn't relate specifically to him he'd have an easier time of it. Easier to kind of accept Lister at face value than have to inspect himself too closely, right? And yeah Lister is very chill about his own gender/transition, and refers to it very casually and kind of thinks of his like, pre-knowingly transtioning teens and whatnot as a phase of his life that he's out of now but not ashamed of or upset by (he's based on my own trans experience- I casually refer to the before times as 'when I was a girl' sometimes, even though it's not strictly accurate because mentally I never was). Anyway, the tone is very flippant/irreverent, innapropriate jokes are made, but if the humour of the show jives with you then you should get through this! Just know that this will not be the universal trans experience, or the universal coming out experience, I'm just playing with how I think the characters would behave in this situation ^^
> 
> Anyway, long rambles and disclaimers aside, hope you enjoy! These characters are like old friends and it's been nice to actually dip into their universe ^^

“And then he tried hitting them with this smegging awful pick-up line- seriously, it was even worse than your _worm do_ bollocks,” Lister rambled, not bothering to check if his roommate was listening.

“It’s not _bollocks,_ Lister.” Ah, so he was listening enough to pick up when he was being insulted, then. Good to know. “I’ll have you know that line has a _very_ high success rate.”

“Oh yeah?” Lister craned his head to look at Rimmer, perched all neatly at the table with the books he definitely wasn’t reading. “How come you haven’t had a girl in here since I joined, then, smeghead?”

“The line works just _fine,_ thank you.” Rimmer sniffed, flaring those nostrils so wide he could hoover up a small herd of African elephants. “It’s what comes after the line that ruins it for me.”

“What, _conversation?”_ Lister snorted. “Yeah, fair enough, you don’t stand a chance.”

“Hardy-har.” Rimmer grumbled, pretending to be more interested in his astro-navigation textbook- better than admitting he couldn’t form a comeback. “Goit.”

Lister rolled over onto his front, crossing his arms and resting his chin on them, half hanging off the top bunk as he recounted his tale to his captive audience. He didn’t know why he was telling this story to _Rimmer_ of all people, but he wanted to talk about it with _someone-_ and unfortunately, Chen and Selby wouldn’t even understand why he was annoyed. If he told them the kind of pick-up lines Petersen was using they’d probably praise him like he was a smegging modern-day bard. Not that Rimmer was much better, but he probably hated the lads enough to have a good sneer even if he didn't care about the line. “So yeah, Petersen jogs out this line, and it’s right terrible. I mean, I enjoy a bad pick-up line as much as the next bloke, but this was disgusting, sexist, the lot. And I told him Petersen, man, pack it in- you’re embarrassing yourself. Like, if you’d used that line on _me_ when I were a bird, I’d’ve punched your smegging lights out-”

“Sorry, what?”

“Hmm?”

Rimmer was looking at him funny, his stupid big forehead all scrunched up. “When you were a what?”

“When I were a bird. Well, not that I ever really _was,_ mind but y’know, legally and that. Before I went on the hormones for me rugged good looks I got a few blokes getting the wrong end of the stick-” he shrugged- “not that it mattered to _me_ they were blokes, ‘course, but it would’ve mattered to them that _I_ was.”

“Lister, what the smeg are you on about?” Rimmer’s brow was so wrinkled it looked like his head was gonna crumple up like an empty can and implode. Considering how hollow his skull was, surprising it hadn’t already.

Lister leaned down a little, and spoke _very_ slowly like a tourist trying to ask his way to the nearest brothel without a phrase book. “I. Am. Transgender. That clear enough for you?”

Rimmer’s forehead smoothed out, but only so his face could go slack with confused shock.

"What,” said Lister. “You never met a trans bloke before?”

“Not- not _knowingly,”_ Rimmer stumbled, fidgeting awkwardly in his seat.

Lister groaned, letting his forehead fall with a _thwump_ onto the bed. Smegging fantastic. Just his luck. “How? _How_ is that even possible? They’re everywhere! Women, too, and all them non-binary types, honestly man there’s more genders out there now than there are tits on a Mimosian cephaloid mechahooker.”

“Well, not on Io!” Rimmer defended, and he must’ve been getting really worked up because he was unconsciously dog-earing a page. He’d probably realise and try to iron it in a minute. “We don’t- _go in_ for that sort of thing.”

Lister narrowed his eyes and looked Rimmer up and down, from his primly crossed legs to his rigid jaw, every inch screaming _‘sorry I can’t hear you through my massive smegging closet’._ “Alright. Yeah, s’pose that’s not surprising. But you’ve been in the Corps for, what, fourteen years? You must’ve met _someone.”_

Rimmer shrugged aggressively. “Well. If I did they never told me.” He glowered up at Lister. _“You_ certainly didn’t.”

“I wasn’t gonna _come out_ to you, Rimmer, it’s not the smegging twenty-twenties,” he chuffed, shaking his head. “Who the hell comes out anymore? I was never _in!”_

“Well, then how the smeg am I supposed to know?”

“It’s not supposed to _matter.”_

“Well what if it _does?”_

Lister had never really thought silence could ‘fall’, as such, always thought that was a daft turn of phrase. He stood corrected. Felt like the sum total of silence in the known universe dropped onto the room like a great big steaming cowpat. Lister stared at Rimmer; and Rimmer, ever the coward, stared at his book, and all the while that fat, steaming silence festered.

After a minute Lister sat up, slowly, swinging his legs off the bunk, not quite sure what he was gonna do with them yet. Sort of felt like he should be stomping on Rimmer’s toes. He ought to be right brassed off, boiling over and ready to twat Rimmer right in his stupid git face for being an ignorant, regressive bellend. Instead he just felt… fed up. Cold and knackered.

“Well,” he muttered, dropping to the floor with a _thud._ “If it _matters_ so much, maybe you should get yourself reassigned. Move in with _the gents.”_

“Lister-”

“No, no, ‘nuff said. You get on that, I’ll get outta your manly hair for the night, yeah? Go for another drink with Chen and Selby. _Just us girls.”_ He snagged his jacket and brandished his pointer finger at Rimmer a moment, hoping it wasn’t visibly shaking. “And no ogling me bum on my way out, _ladykiller.”_

_“Dave-”_

But Lister was out the door before the rare sound of Rimmer’s voice round his first name could stop him.

* * *

“You know what we should do-”

Lister groaned. “Guys-”

“Nick all his biros!” Selby continued, grinning like he was dead pleased with himself.

“Put pubes in his pencil case!” Chen raised him, cackling like a hyena.

“Glue his- _hic!_ \- head t’, t’ the ceilin’,” Petersen slurred, face fully planted on the tabletop.

“Guys, _guys,”_ Lister hollered- you had to holler to get a word in edgewise with those gits sometimes. “Leave it alone, yeah?”

Chen pouted. “But we always mess with Rimmer, and that’s just for being a-”

“Bossy, brown-nosing, anal retentive knobhead,” Selby chimed in.

“Ey, yep, what he said. This is a way better reason!”

Lister sighed. “Can’t be _bothered,_ man.” He fiddled with the pull tab on his can of Leopard lager. “Just wanna let him sort his crap out and move so I can go to smegging bed.”

 _“He’s_ the one who should move,” Selby complained.

Petersen raised his heavy, drunken head from the table with a gurgling sound. “Le- let’s- _hic!_ \- push ‘is bed out onto. Onto, onto the- _hic!_ \- lake.”

Lister rolled his eyes. “We’re in space, there’s no lake, and this isn’t the smegging _Parent Trap.”_

Chen snapped his fingers. “Airlock!”

_“No.”_

“We’ll give him a helmet!”

Selby cackled again. “Why, he already _is_ one.”

“Look, he’ll move, I’ll get someone new, that’ll be that,” said Lister, wearily. Not that he really wanted to figure out how to live around a new bunkmate, but _anyone_ had to be better than _Rimmer._ A good ninety nine-point-nine-nine- _whatever_ percent of people were alright with trans folks these days, anyway. Just Lister’s bollocking luck he got roomed with Mister Zero-Point-Zero-Zero-Zero-One.

Selby was actually starting to look worried. Lister hadn’t even known his face could do that. “C’mon, mate. Winding up ‘ol Rimjob always picks you right up.”

The tab snapped off in Lister’s fingers. He _did_ wanna piss off Rimmer. He wanted to have a good proper yell at him, first, tell him where he could stick his stupid hang-ups, and then mess up his stupid sock cataloguing system for good measure.

But he also didn’t wanna take one more look at his insufferable face tonight. “‘M not in the mood, man.”

No one spoke for a few seconds. A smegging once in a lifetime, blue moon _miracle_ with that lot.

Then Petersen thumped the table with his right hand, then his left, then clapped them together. And again, a couple more times while Selby and Chen joined in and picked up the familiar rhythm. Then he spoke up in time, loud and slurred, booze and accent doubling up to muddy his words almost beyond recognition, but he _more_ than made up for it in volume. Good thing Lister was fluent in Petersen.

“I’ been t’ Titan, I’ stayed ‘n hostels,” Petersen droned in time with the beat, face scrunched up in concentration. “I can name- _hic!_ \- nine’y things that fi’ up Rimm’r’s nostrils.”

Lister chuckled, sitting out a few rounds while the others all took turns naming stuff. By the time _War and Peace, the pyramids_ and _Godzilla’s scaly nutsack_ had been suggested, he felt well better.

Better enough to join in the game and take his turn. “Selby’s mum!”

The whole table roared with drunken laughter, and kept laughing through smeg knows how many rounds. No one really cared if the beat got sloppy, or if they went past ninety things, and soon enough no one really cared about waiting their turn, either. Soon they were just bellowing things over one another, a raucous cacophony of _‘the ozone toupée!’_ and _‘Todhunter!’_ and _‘McIntyre’s gambling debt!’_ drowning out the distant sound of the few remaining outsiders still drinking at eleven thirty on a Wednesday night. Felt like it was just them, just a pack of blokes being twats and not giving a toss about stuck-up bunkmates. Almost as if Petersen had planned it that way. Maybe the mad smegger wasn’t dumb as a box of rocks, after all. Lister had to admit, he almost had a newfound respect for the goit.

That newfound respect lasted about as long as it took for Petersen to get up for another round, fall over, and try getting off with the skutter attempting to nudge him back to his feet.

Hey, twelve minutes. Must be a record, that.

* * *

It wasn’t the _worst_ hangover he’d ever had. But then again, it’d be hard to beat the top spot for that; going out for drinks on your twenty-fifth birthday and waking up penniless on Mimas with a splitting headache and no way home was a tough contender. Unless he did something _more_ stupid than getting so utterly stuck on a strange moon that he had to sign up to work on a mining ship just for a ride home, that one wasn’t getting dethroned anytime soon.

This one, though? Pretty up there in terms of sheer smegging awfulness. But maybe that was just the fresh trauma of waking up face-down in a pillow of Petersen’s dirty laundry talking. Nightmare, that. Maybe Rimmer had a point about hampers being a good thing.

Right, yeah. Rimmer. His bigoted smegpot bunkmate, bane of his existence and reason for conking out on Petersen’s floor. It was all flooding back.

Smeg. He wanted another drink.

Dejectedly shuffling to the refectory, Lister thought lustfully about breakfast and a hangover cure. Fortunately, he knew exactly what to make to kill two birds with one sandwich. He thought about stopping for a change of clothes, and ultimately decided against it; on the off chance that Rimmer was lurking, he didn’t wanna deal with him on an empty stomach. He’d only been wearing these undies four days, anyway, and he hadn’t even turned them inside out yet. Best just to avoid the room and Rimmer altogether for as long as possible.

Now if only Rimmer would return the favour.

“Morning, Lister.”

Lister groaned, slopping a bit of chilli over the edge of his bread. “Smeg.”

“Hello to you, too.”

“Look, whatever you wanna say, can it wait?” Lister grumbled, inelegantly slathering some chutney on top of the egg and chilli mush. “It’s too smegging early. Or even better-” he shoved the top layer of bread down and grabbed his tray before whirling to glare at Rimmer directly, spattering some stray chilli sauce over the twonk’s immaculate uniform- “how ‘bout you just don’t say anything, yeah? Change rooms, chuck me off z-shift, I don’t care, do what you wanna do and jog on.”

Rimmer wrinkled his nose and vigorously dabbed at the stain with a monogrammed hanky, but he didn’t snap or threaten to put Lister on report, which was so out of character it actually slowed his roll a bit and made him pause to listen. “Yes, well, hm. There- there’ll be no need for that, Lister.”

Lister raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes. No. That is to say, I’m actually here to…” He trailed off, face contorting like he was sucking a lemon- or taking a bite of Lister’s sandwich. “To, um, well…”

“This gonna take long, Rimmer?” Lister drawled, shoving past the floundering ponce to make his way to the tables. If he had to listen to this smeg, he was damn well gonna do it sitting down. “Only I’ve got Christmas plans, so I wanna be done this side of it.”

“Lister, don’t backtalk me when I’m apologising to you.”

 _Both_ his eyebrows shot up at that, and he cast Rimmer a bemused glance over his shoulder. “You _what?”_

Rimmer looked all green and constipated. “I am… in the _process_ of _attempting_ to _acknowledge_ the _possibility_ that I _might_ have _inadvertently_ caused… offence.”

Lister snorted and flopped down at his usual table. No lads; either they were at work in the kitchens or they were still sloshed. Hell, probably both. “And that’s your apology, is it? Well, I’m moved to tears, Arn.”

Hovering on his feet behind the chair opposite, Rimmer glowered. “Oh, _shut up_ you gimboid, I’m not finished.”

 _“Really_ buttering me up, now.”

Ol’ Rubber-Faced Rimsy really jumped out then, his brows drawing in and his nose scrunching and his mouth twisting into an unattractive gurn. Sort of half apologetic, half simmering rage. Mental the kind of faces the man could pull. “Look, what I’m trying to say is I… am…” He hissed through his teeth, starting to look a little cross-eyed with effort.

Lister looked up at him expectantly, taking a big, sloppy bite of his triple fried egg chilli chutney sandwich.

Making a nose of distress in his throat, Rimmer changed tack, gripping the back of the chair with white knuckles. “Look, I only said- _what I said_ because, well, you rather took me by surprise.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?”

“Ye- _no._ No. it was, well, it was a bit of a shock. And altogether not something I’m used to. Scoff if you like, Listy, say I was born yesterday, but it’s like you said, no one ‘comes out’ anymore. And if they _did,_ well- why would _anyone_ come out to _me?”_

 _That_ at least was a fair point. No one talked to Rimmer if they could help it. No one except Lister, apparently, because he was the unlucky sod who roomed with him. “Alright, yeah. But _I_ did, and you were a real smegger about it, man.”

“Yes. That was… _discourteous.”_

“‘Discourteous’?”

“Practically uncouth."

“Rimmer, I’m too hungover to deal with your emotionally repressed boarding school bollocks- just say you’re smegging sorry and stop faffing around, yeah?”

 _“Fine,_ I’m _sorry,_ alright?”

Lister blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

 _“Yes,_ seriously. You don’t have to rub it in.”

Lister glanced around. No sign of any flying pigs. “No, just… didn’t expect you to actually say it. Thought you’d just talk yourself in circles for a while, gimme some kinda bollocks non-apology that makes no sense and run away.”

Rimmer puffed up like an irritated pigeon. “I resent that, Lister! What on Io would give you the idea that I would be anything less than courteous, eloquent and stoic?”

“You want the list, do you?”

“Oh, _dry up,_ git.”

Lister grinned and lifted his foot, putting it on the chair Rimmer was propped against and kicking, Rimmer exhaling on a quiet _'oof'_ as it whacked him in the midriff. “Sit down, you plonker. You look a right prat looming like that.”

Rimmer looked like he resented that comment too and all, but he begrudgingly settled himself in the seat with his hands primly clasped on the table. “So- is all forgiven?”

Lister considered it over another big, hearty bite. He chewed slowly with his mouth open, enjoying watching Rimmer try and fail not to wince noticeably. “Depends- you planning on being a git about this? ‘Bout me?”

“In what way?”

“Y’know.” He shrugged. “Taking the piss outta me for it.”

“...Lister, I _always_ take the piss out of you.”

“Yeah, I know, but not specifically ‘bout _that,_ right? I don’t need you taking cheap shots ‘cause of, y’know, where I’ve come from.”

Rimmer looked like he was considering it carefully, but he nodded stiffly. “Alright. No comments on… _that.”_ He raised his finger. “Ah, if by ‘where you’ve come from’ you mean sexual characteristics; if I can’t make fun of you for being from the fetid cesspool formerly known as Liverpool, no deal.”

“That’s right big of you, cheers, posh twat,” Lister muttered, but not with any real animosity. Not like he was expecting anything else; mockingly imitating Lister’s accent was one of Rimmer’s old reliables, after all. Still, what was that old saying ‘bout imitation and flattery?

“Is that all?”

“Ye-no, actually.” Lister fidgeted. Christ, he hadn’t had to have this chat in _years,_ not like this was a thing any self respecting normal person got funny about anymore. “Uh. No getting weird about it, ey? Treating me different.”

“Different how?”

Lister rolled his eyes. “C’mon, man. I’ve seen you try and talk to women, like they’re some kinda alien species. You’re not gonna start doing that to me are you, just ‘cause you think I’m-”

“I don’t think you’re a woman.”

His stared at Rimmer, a small lump of egg tumbling from his slack mouth to land with a slight _splat_ on the table. “You don’t?”

Rimmer fidgeted. “Well. I’ll admit it’s… strange. And I may have had to, um, do a spot of reading while you were out on a bender trying to understand it-”

“Wait, seriously?” Lister felt like he’d slipped through some weird smegging wormhole to some alternate universe, where Rimmer actually _read_ things instead of getting stuck on the same page for three hours then getting bored and going to make some timetables.

“Yes, _shut up._ Anyway, it was an _odd_ concept to get used to, but I don’t think… _differently_ of you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. And I _certainly_ don’t think you’re a woman.”

Lister put down his sopping wet sandwich and scrubbed at his chin with his shirtsleeve, mind buzzing. It was miraculous enough he’d got a _sorry_ out of the man. Full acceptance with only a night’s turnover? Not only were pigs flying, Hell must’ve smegging frozen over. Who was this decent-ish bloke, and what had he done with Arnold Rimmer? “Rimmer, man, I… dunno quite know what to say, guy.”

“Frankly,” Rimmer continued, blushing to the tips of his ears. “I don’t think it’s _possible_ for a woman to be as slovenly as you.”

Ah. There he was. “‘Ey, now!”

“Only a man could possibly be so disgustingly _grimy,_ Listy. Or a baboon. Something with lots and lots of hair, at any rate, although even baboons regularly check each other for fleas.”

“C’mon, man- we was almost having a nice moment there!”

“Exactly,” said Rimmer waspishly. “It was getting awfully chummy. I’m still your superior, miladdo.”

Any good will they were building more or less fizzled out over the next few minutes. Lister lobbed a lump of chutney-saturated bread at Rimmer’s head, Rimmer got out his smegging notebook and put him on report for assaulting a superior officer, Lister kicked his chair and got the charge upgraded to mutiny, it was a whole kerfuffle. Felt like a load of pointless, petty fuss about nothing.

In other words, the world was back to rights.

* * *

The apology itself was unbelievable enough. What’s more unbelievable was Rimmer actually made good on his promise not to keep being a dick about it.

Oh, he had his stupid moments, obviously. Wouldn’t be Rimmer otherwise. Mostly all that meant was getting a bit hot in the face and henpecky when Lister jokily bragged about the perks of the artificial todger- either because he was embarrassed, scandalised or just annoyed that Lister could make jokes about it and he couldn’t. But mostly things went right back to normal; neither of them moved out, the night of the second-worst-hangover wasn’t mentioned again, and Rimmer talked to Lister like he’d always talked to Lister; with smugness, impotent rage, and ineffective jabs at his hygiene, his habits and the very concept of Liverpool.

But that, Lister could deal with. He was used to it- smeg, sometimes he even thought he _enjoyed_ it. As much as he wanted to strangle Rimmer with his own stupid sock suspenders sometimes, winding the man up was pretty much the only highlight of having to work with him. He had it down to an art form, needling Rimmer; and he’d be a pretty scummy type of guy if he could dish it out but he couldn’t take it. He’d be a… well, a Rimmer.

So it was a happy ending, sort of. Rimmer, stuck up and smothered in deeply-entrenched Ionian bias as he was, managed to find a million things to take the piss out of Lister for that weren’t tied to his gender identity, past or present. And Lister, grudgingly proud of him for the unexpected personal growth, _occasionally_ listened when Rimmer told him to ‘ _at least wait until I’m out of the room to bite your own toenails, you troglodyte’._ By their standards it was practically cosy, if not the slightest bit smegging mature. But it worked, and it kept them (mostly) sane and trundling along in their prickly version of domestic bliss for the rest of, well, _Rimmer’s_ life.

Three entire months. Another record.

**Author's Note:**

> And there we have it!
> 
> If I got anything canonically wrong you can assume that I either A) just forgot about it accidentally or B) decided I was gonna give about as much of a shit about canon continuity as the show does i.e. none at all, no shits to be found. I've also kept the time period vague as I can't decide whether to go for late twenty-first century like much of the show says/implies, or 23rd century because Lister defo calls himself a 23rd century guy at some point. I can't be bothered and I hate dates, so I'm keeping it vague.
> 
> Anyway, hope you liked it! Drop us a comment if you had a good time- or maybe if you've got ideas for other trans!Lister one-shots you might wanna see in future! And check out my [Lister playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3yZaroO1xpnA9brBh8zJgN?si=vdOsQz-oR4WyaBXwe7QgJg) if you're into that, I've got 'em for [Rimmer](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3GJrKWE4JZUCldP4onGBEK?si=gR5n1fSATn2Pckw4te4WTA) and [Cat](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4NvaKH0Z0CwgvBBkIUZ17p?si=h-XhQBqgQWS6lfgsAaZZPQ), too!
> 
> Thanks for reading <333


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